


The Right Kind of Wrong Idea

by Marks



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-20
Updated: 2008-12-20
Packaged: 2017-12-13 21:02:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marks/pseuds/Marks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone's got the right idea about Brendon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Right Kind of Wrong Idea

**Author's Note:**

> PWP set in a Catholic boarding school AU with an angry Brendon.

Brendon has no idea why he thought a new school would be the answer to his prayers. Seriously, do prayers stop working when you don't believe in God anymore and go to a school for a different religion as some stupid form of rebellion? Because it fucking feels like that right now.

It feels good to kick open the door to his room, _hard_ , like he's never done before. No one really thinks he's capable of it, and he can't even blame them. He's this dorky little nerd kid with geek glasses who likes music a little too much (likes his roommate a lot too much, too) and who can't ever fucking shut up.

Slamming the door behind him feels good. Kicking the wall would have felt good, too, if it didn't hurt his foot more than the wall. The way Jon is looking at him, mouth open and blinking from his bed, doesn't feel too good.

Shit.

Brendon clears his throat and throws his shoulders back, defiant, like he's daring Jon to say anything about his little scene. "What are you doing here?" And that? That's a growl, low and dangerous, coming from his own mouth. It scares him because it's not Jon's fault that --

That he's Jon. And that Brendon is so obvious.

"I cut math," Jon says. He holds up his DS like it's a peace offering. Then he throws it to the end of the bed and stands up, carefully approaching Brendon like he would a skittish animal. Brendon swallows hard, but doesn't fight it when Jon puts his hands on Brendon's shoulders. Instead, he lets out a wounded sound and slumps back against their shut door. "Do you want to talk about it?" Jon asks.

Brendon shakes his head and says, "I don't want to talk," because it's the truth, something hot and dangerous twisting in his stomach as he pushes off the door and grabs Jon's hips. "Everyone thinks they've got me figured out. Talking -- talking gets me in trouble. I'm sick of talking."

Then he surges up and kisses Jon, hard, right on the mouth before he can even fully register what he's doing. Fifteen minutes earlier he'd been in Sister Mary Patrick's office getting more detention than he'd ever gotten in his life, twenty-five minutes ago he'd punched someone in the face -- something he'd never done before, he's supposed to be a good kid, a _nice_ one, the one that can laugh shit like this off -- for insinuating he and Jon were doing...

Exactly what they're doing right now.

Because Brendon wants this so much, he wants it with every part of his body, and it scares him to think about. Like there wasn't already so much wrong with him, that there's something else, too. And in a second Jon is going to stumble back and stare at him for being such a fucking freak and request a roommate change and the only thing that's actually good for him other than choir and band will be gone.

But Jon's not moving away. Jon's grip around Brendon's arms is tightening and he's making a confused noise into Brendon's mouth, but he's _not moving away_. Brendon opens his mouth, maybe to ask a question, he doesn't know, but Jon's tongue is there answering instead, and the wounded animal sound is back because Brendon wants so much that he feels like his whole body is vibrating.

Jon lets Brendon push him into the room, push him back onto his bed, and though Brendon doesn't understand how they ended up like this -- Jon's fingers wrapped around his uniform tie, tugging hard and loosening the knot, breaking their kiss when he pulls it over Brendon's head, spreading his legs so Brendon can settle between them -- he doesn't want it to stop.

"Jon," Brendon gasps, when Jon pushes off the bed, rubbing himself against Brendon and, shit, he's hard, he's as hard as Brendon is. "What --"

"It's okay," Jon says too fast, the pad of his index finger pressing against Brendon's bottom lip. "I've seen you looking. I know that you -- I am, too. Me too."

This just about rocks Brendon's world. Jon is easygoing and amazing and everyone loves him, even though he likes the new kid when nobody else does. But he doesn't have time to think too hard when Jon's trying to pull open the buttons on Brendon's shirt, before making a frustrated sound and just undoing Brendon's belt.

Jon rolls them onto their sides, grabs Brendon's hand and puts it on the front of his pants, arching against Brendon's palm, and Brendon blinks, swallows, and rubs. Jon kisses him again, Brendon gasps, and he can't think anymore because Jon's hand is inside his underwear, wrapped around his cock and stroking him.

"Shit," Brendon says, all of the angry tension in his body now replaced by nervous tension instead. He's _scared_ , he doesn't want to fuck this up, he's going to come in under a minute if Jon doesn't stop right now, but Jon's not stopping, just squeezing him harder, jacking him faster. Brendon's fingers twitch over Jon's zipper.

"Brendon, touch me," Jon says, and he sounds a little bit exasperated, but mostly turned on.

Brendon looks down at his hand and says, "Right, right," like he's suddenly about to gain a bunch of knowledge about getting other guys off that he didn't have five minutes ago. He bites his lip and tries to get Jon's pants open one-handed and manages after a few false starts, made more difficult by the way Jon keeps stroking him and panting open-mouthed against Brendon's neck whenever Brendon's knuckles brush against his dick. Then he has his hand under Jon's waistband and scratchy woven cotton rubbing the back of his hand. And. And his fingers on Jon's cock.

"Jesus Christ," Brendon breathes, and Jon laughs breathlessly and nods.

"I know, right?"

There are a couple of false starts where they try matching rhythm and can't quite get it because Jon keeps kissing Brendon and Brendon feels like his brain is about to leak out of his ears, but they're both musicians, it's how they ended up roommates in the first place, and they pick up the tempo after a minute.

Then Brendon's stomach tightens and his hips jerk as he moans, loud and low, from the back of his throat. "Jon, God, I'm--"

"Yeah, Brendon, _please_ ," Jon says. Their eyes meet and there's nothing other than want and sincerity in Jon's expression. Brendon can't help coming, jolting forward. He's trying to muffle his moans with Jon's mouth as Jon comes, too, throbbing wet over Brendon's fingers.

Brendon laughs when it happens. Jon looks dazed and confused, but there's a little smile playing on his lips. Brendon pulls his hand out and wipes it on his uniform shirt. He'll worry about that later.

"Have you thought about that a lot?" Jon asks him after a minute. The next question is quieter: "Me?"

"You have no idea," Brendon says earnestly.

Jon chuckles. "Oh. So, you gonna tell me what happened?"

Brendon pauses, then sighs. "Someone had the right idea about me, I guess."

"Just in the wrong way?"

"Yeah," Brendon says.

"I get it," Jon says, and Brendon supposes he really does.


End file.
